


When the Witcher Dreams

by MidtownKitten



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-21 21:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidtownKitten/pseuds/MidtownKitten
Summary: Yennefer interrupted his thoughts to ask, “So… how shall we three pass the night?”They were both watching him expectantly, almost hungrily, and Geralt knew that the decision had already been made. He sighed. He was too old for this. All he said in response was, “Fuck.”Picking up where The Witcher S1 ended, Geralt, Jaskier and Yennefer are thrown together yet again and spend a night together that is truly magical... in more ways than one!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

“Who is Yennefer?”

Geralt looked down at the girl, his child surprise, the Lion Cub of Cintra.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “The sorceress?”

Princess Cirilla returned the Witcher’s gaze, her eyes wide and blue, the sky contained within them. “I don’t know,” she replied softly. “I hear a voice in my head calling her name. I think… I am meant to find her.”

_ People linked by destiny will always find each other.  _ Geralt sighed. Had he not paid destiny its due? Was it not enough that he had found the girl, would claim her as his own and protect her now that she had no one left? Even as he took in her pale, resolute face and felt again the strange undercurrent of power he could not name radiating from the spot where she stood, he knew the answer. 

“There’s an inn not far from here,” Geralt said. “We can ask after her there.”

“What if we can’t find her?” Ciri asked, falling into step beside him. 

Geralt felt his jaw tighten. He still sometimes felt the velvet of her cheek, the sweep of her midnight hair, her fingertips dancing across his skin in restless dreams. But he always awoke alone. “She’s never been one to keep a low profile. We’ll find her.”

_ That is, if she wants to be found, _ he thought, as they walked on in silence together. 

*****

It had grown dark by the time they reached the inn and its tavern’s lanterns burned like twin beacons in the sea of night that drowned them. Geralt lifted the hood of his cloak as they entered, in hopes of hiding his distinctive white hair and attracting as little attention as possible. He noticed that Cirilla did the same thing, and he remembered that she too had reason to hide who she was.

He asked for bread and warm broth for the girl and a cup of ale for himself. He had enough coin to last them a few nights, but he knew he’d have to go back to work sooner rather than later… and then what? How could he protect the Princess while battling monsters for a few fistfuls of gold? And yet, he knew nothing else, could do nothing else. He had told Yenn that their lives - the Witcher’s and the mage’s alike - were not suited to raising a child and he had meant what he said, but destiny apparently had other plans in mind. 

A roar of approval went up from the crowd at the other end of the tavern, as the music that Geralt realized had been playing came to a rousing end.

“Spare a coin for your bard?” the serving girl asked, as she sashayed by the table to refill his cup. 

Geralt saw him then, lute in hand, hair falling into his face as he took a seat at the long oaken bar. He turned as if on cue to find Geralt staring at him, and for a moment his face lit up with recognition. Then, just as quickly, Geralt watched it fall, made cold and blank by the veil of hurt that descended between them. Jaskier turned away abruptly and Geralt was reminded of the unkind words with which they had last parted ways, words he had spoken in haste and frustration. 

“I owe him more than that,” Geralt muttered. 

The serving girl was unimpressed. “Must be his lucky day,” she said. 

Geralt shot another glance in Jaskier’s direction. The man was a pain in his ass and never knew when to keep his mouth shut, but at the same time, he had treated Geralt as a friend from the start, and truth be told, for all Geralt had complained about the bard’s setting of their adventures to song, it was those very songs that now kept his name in good favor and his coin purse more often full than empty. 

“Stay here,” he told the Princess, before taking a last swig of ale and rising from the table. He made his way across the tavern and took a seat next to the bard, who proceeded to ignore him completely. “Jaskier -“ he began. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” Jaskier cut Geralt off. “Are you sure you want to do that? I’m nothing but bad luck, you know. Pure shit, really. Just a stupid bard, who tried to make people not hate you so fucking much, but we don’t need to talk about that. You made your opinion of me very clear and I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other.” 

Geralt felt himself losing patience with Jaskier’s theatrics, but forced himself to take a steadying breath. “If you would just let me -“ he began again. 

“Let you what?” Jaskier interrupted petulantly. 

Geralt was about to say something he would surely later regret when the tavern doors swung open, letting in a gust of night wind and with it, the scent of lilac and gooseberry. It was a scent that Geralt would recognize anywhere. 

Yennefer of Vengerberg turned every head in the room when she entered. She wore a tightly fitted black gown trimmed in white fur beneath a long silver cloak that shimmered in the lamplight. Her sharp, violet eyes swept the tavern, searching. And when they came to rest on the Witcher, narrowed dangerously. 

“What do you want from me?” Yennefer demanded, approaching the Witcher and the bard. 

“Hello, Yennefer,” Geralt said by way of reply. 

“This one again? Really?” Jaskier said, looking incredulously from Geralt to Yennefer and back. “Have you ever considered that maybe the crazy sorceress and not the friendly, handsome, talented bard, is the main source of your troubles?” Jaskier paused. “No offense,” he said to Yennefer. 

“None taken,” she replied, taking a seat on the other side of Geralt and flagging the bartender to pour her a drink. “You can call off whatever summoning magic you’re using,” Yennefer told Geralt tersely. “You called me to this shithole and here I am. So what do you want?”

“I didn’t summon you,” Geralt told her. Yen had become an expert over the years at hiding her true emotions, and anyone else might have missed the flash of disappointment that flickered across the mage’s beautiful face before she hardened her expression to conceal it. But Geralt did not. And in that moment, it was all he could do not to grab her wrist and pull her into an embrace. “But I know who might have,” he said. 

Yennefer and Jaskier both followed Geralt’s gaze to the table where Princess Cirilla still sat. “So, you finally claimed her,” Jaskier said. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you. I mean, you’re not exactly the fatherly type. But then again, you are bonded to her by the Law of Surprise and she is the Princess of Cintra -“

“Hold on,” Yennefer cut in. “Your child surprise is Princess Cirilla? Heir to the throne of Cintra? The one Nilfgaard is hunting?” Geralt nodded. “You didn’t think that was worth mentioning?!”

“No, I didn’t,” he snapped. “Jaskier is right, I have no business trying to care for a child. I never intended to meddle in her life until I had no choice.” He could feel her eyes on him and he wondered, not for the first time, what it was she saw when she looked at him. 

“So,” Yen said softly, looking at Cirilla. “You have a daughter.” Geralt could hear the longing in her voice, the pain. And he would have done anything, said anything, killed anything, to take that pain away if he could. “Well then,” Yennefer continued, “Where are the three of you off to next?”

“Three of us?!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Me, him, and her? Not bloody likely! No, I’m afraid the great Geralt of Rivia wants nothing to do with yours truly, would rather see me dead in a ditch than have me tagging along with him again.”

“I didn’t say that,” Geralt muttered. 

“But it’s what you meant,” Jaskier said, turning his head sharply to face Geralt. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Geralt replied, meeting Jaskier’s eyes. He could feel his skin growing hot. 

“Perhaps you’d rather he put something else in your mouth instead,” Yennefer said, her voice half mischief, half seduction. When neither of them spoke, she added, “Oh come now, let’s not be coy. You bicker like new lovers, do you really mean to tell me you two have never fucked?”

The bard’s face reddened. “If I recall correctly, it’s you he wants to fuck, not me,” he said. 

Yennefer looked from Jaskier to Geralt and then clicked her tongue in mock scolding. “You’ve hurt him,” she said. And then to Jaskier, “Hasn’t he?”

“As a matter of fact, yes he has,” Jaskier said. 

“And how would you have him make it up to you?” 

“Yen…” Geralt’s tone was a warning. 

“What?” she replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, the world’s on fire and there might not be a way to save it from burning. I tried, Geralt.. and I may have stopped them for a little while, but Fringilla’s just getting started. There’s no telling what they’ll unleash upon us next.” She shrugged. “We’re here now, why not have some fun?”

Jaskier poked his head around Geralt’s broad shoulders. “What did you have in mind?” he asked her. 

“No,” Geralt said. 

“Why the hell not?” Yennefer demanded. He gave her an exasperated glare and gestured at the crowd of people in the tavern, at Cirilla who had let her cloak fall back and was now watching them carefully. “It’s the girl you’re worried about?”

“It’s everyone.”

Without another word, Yen hoisted herself on to the bar and stood there for a moment, towering over everyone in the room. She stretched out her hands and said in a low chanting voice, “ _ Neend ya-asha…”  _ She paused and looked around. Her eyes fell on the bard’s lute. “ _ Neend ya-asha rook jow lute,”  _ she finished the spell. 

All around them, people stopped what they were doing and slowly settled to the ground, where they promptly fell fast asleep. They slumped over, asleep at their tables, and even Cirilla slept soundly where she sat, head resting on her arms, curls spilling over the table’s edge. 

Yennefer hopped down lightly and shot Geralt a triumphant look. “Problem solved,” she said. 

“Someone could come in,” Geralt countered but the gleam in her eye weakened his protest. 

“If anyone so much as touches the door, they too will fall under the enchantment,” she told him. “When I say the word that breaks the spell, they will all simply wake, as if from a pleasant dream.” 

“What’s the word?” Jaskier asked. She picked up his lute and held it up with a smile. He took it back from her with a huff. “Don’t touch that,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes as she backed away from them, unfastening her cloak as she moved and letting it slide free of her body. With a flick of her wrist, her tightly laced dress somehow also fell to the floor, leaving her clad in only high black boots that encased her long legs to the knee. 

Jaskier and Geralt stared at her like dumbstruck boys, and then Jaskier also began to get undressed, albeit less gracefully than the mage. Catching Geralt’s eye, Jaskier paused. “Best not to argue with a witch,” he said. Then he was standing next to her, hands on his hips, cock swinging free. The sight made Geralt’s unnaturally slow-beating heart quicken. Yen and Jaskier together… the idea had possibilities. But it also had risks. Risks he wasn’t sure he ought to take. 

Yen interrupted his thoughts to ask, “So… how shall we three pass the night?” 

They were both watching him expectantly, almost hungrily, and Geralt knew that the decision had already been made. He sighed. He was too old for this. All he said in response was, “Fuck.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - This chapter contains rough M/M sex!

Geralt took his time stripping his clothes from his body and when he was done, turned his cat eyes on the bard. In all their days and nights on the road together, they had slept in close proximity many times, had seen each other bathe and dress and piss and all the other small intimacies that came with sharing a journey. Geralt hadn’t needed any mutant powers of perception to sense Jaskier’s desire for him then and he certainly didn’t now, although there was something else mingled with it. 

“Come here,” he said. 

Jaskier hesitated. He cast a glance at Yennefer who gave a slight shake of her head, and then he set his full lips in a firm line. “No,” he replied. 

“No?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the bard. 

“No,” Jaskier repeated. “You come to me.”

Geralt fought to suppress a smile. He crossed slowly to Jaskier, brushing past the mage on his way. He stood a head taller than the bard, and took a moment, inches away from his warmth and his growing hardness, to breathe him in more deeply. He knew the scent of lust, of fear, of evil - these were familiar to him. But what he caught coming off of Jaskier was something else. Something wounded. 

“Well… don’t just stand there!” Jaskier couldn’t quite seem to look at him.

“What would you have me do?”

“What do you want to do?” 

Geralt considered. There had been more than a few times he had thought of stopping the bard’s unceasing mouth with a kiss. At the moment, he wanted a great deal more than a kiss alone, but it was somewhere to start. Using a hand to cup the back of Jaskier’s neck, Geralt lowered his head and brought their lips together. 

Jaskier melted into the Witcher’s kiss like butter in the summer sun. His mouth was soft and pliant, eager to be ravaged by a searching tongue. “This is… Fuck me.. Geralt.. Gods have mercy.”

Geralt could not deny that it was satisfying to see the bard lost for words. “Is that a request?” he asked. 

“Ha!” Jaskier took a step back and looked down at Geralt’s sizable cock, flaccid though it was. “Let’s… work up to that, shall we?” 

“Is that the best you two can do?” They both turned to look at Yennefer who scoffed in their direction. “How boring,” she drawled. 

Geralt had a sharp retort ready but Jaskier jumped in with, “Absolutely right! How rude of us Geralt, to ignore the lady’s needs. Yennefer of Vengerberg, we are at your service,” he said with a flourish. “I can’t speak for the white wolf here, but I myself am an expert in the art of cunnilingus and would be happy to… wait, what are you… what are you doing?” 

Yennefer had extended a slender arm and touched her fingertips to Jaskier’s forehead. “You want to fuck him,” she stated matter-of-factly. “He makes you feel powerless, and so you crave his submission. You’ve cried yourself to sleep over his cruelty and in your darkest fantasies, you imagine inflicting cruelty in return, if not with words, then at least, with body.” 

Jaskier laughed nervously, backing out of her reach. “That’s not quite -“

“You imagine him bound.”

“I mean…”

“Begging.”

“Well…”

“Bent over.” With a wave of her hand, Yen uprooted two of the tavern’s tables and sent them crashing together to form one large platform in the middle of the room. “A plaything.” The people who had been sleeping at them flew from their seats against the walls and then to the floor, where they slept on, blissfully unaware. “To be fucked and discarded. Like he discarded you.”

“Yen, for fuck’s sake, be careful with them!” Geralt told her, eyeing the inanimate piles of people lying about. Some of them would wake up with nasty bruises and a lot of questions. 

“Why?” she shot back. “Have they been careful with me? Have they ever been careful with any of us?”

Geralt could have reminded her that the simple people of this village in this tavern had never done her any harm, but he knew the reproach would fall on deaf ears. Yennefer’s grudge was with the whole world. 

“They use us,” Jaskier said quietly and with that at least, Geralt couldn’t argue. All three of them knew it was the truth.  _ But I used him too, _ Geralt thought, his conscience pricking him, like an annoying thorn in his foot. He made up his mind. 

The Witcher moved to the short edge of the table Yen had created and ran his hands over the smooth surface. He had lived enough lifetimes to have sought out every kind of pleasure, especially in the beginning, when he had been young and hopeful to find anything that might have made him feel human again. But now, he was older and more guarded and it went against all of his instincts to make himself vulnerable, to open himself up to another. But for Jaskier, he could try. 

“I don’t do bound and I don’t do begging,” he said in a low voice. “But the rest of it…” He bent over the table, legs spread wide, arms reaching to grip the corners, locking him in place. 

Jaskier needed no further invitation. Geralt felt the bard behind him, felt lute-calloused fingers skimming his backside, pulling the taught cheeks apart. There was breath, then wetness, a tongue circling the opening, probing it until the sensation forced a groan from Geralt’s lips. Yennefer hopped up on the table and stretched out on her belly, chin in hand, nearly nose to nose with him as he struggled to keep his breathing even. 

“Is this the kind of entertainment you had in mind?” he asked her darkly. She only smiled as they heard Jaskier spit once, twice, then without warning, rammed the length of his wet cock into Geralt’s ass. It would take more than a rough fucking to make a Witcher cry out, but this time, this blind and brutal tearing into him - it came damn close. His body protested every thrust, which he knew was meant as punishment, and he gritted his teeth at the pain of being taken this way. 

“Relax,” Yen murmured. “Let him have his penance.” When she kissed him, Geralt wasn’t sure if it was out of desire or pity for his plight, but her mouth was a welcome distraction. Jaskier had settled into a steady rhythm, added more spit to ease the friction, and changed the angle of his penetration so that beyond the burning of it, Geralt could sense something like pleasure starting to build. He had spent enough time in brothels watching other people fuck to know that they experienced the act more vividly, more viscerally than he did. He had needs and found ways to satisfy them, but he often wondered what it would be like to fuck another person and really  _ feel something.  _ And then Yennefer of Vengerberg came along and put his curiosity to rest. 

She had pulled back and was looking at him with glittering eyes. “Can you do two things at once, Witcher?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she flipped onto her back and spun her body around, shifting her hips towards his face. “Let’s see if you can give and get at the same time,” she said and spread her legs. 

Geralt knew the scent of her pussy, knew its softness, its depth. But he didn’t yet know its taste. He had to stretch his neck to reach her, but when at last he lapped at her dark folds, searching for the pink flesh within, he couldn’t help but laugh. She tasted of lilac and gooseberry - like sampling a wine infused with the sweetest flowers of spring and letting the juice of a hundred ripe berries fill his mouth and run down his chin. 

“This is not - ” Geralt began, but was cut short when Jaskier hit a particularly sensitive spot that momentarily made his breath catch in his throat. When he found his voice again, he said to Yen, “This is not how a woman tastes.”

She shrugged. “None if it is real, Geralt,” she said and he was reminded of how they had parted ways, her certainty that their connection was simply the result of Geralt’s wish and the djinn’s magic. How could he explain that all his wishes had been accidents, including his last silent plea to save her life.  _ Please, don’t let me lose her.  _ He remembered the wish forming, unbidden, in the lethal chaos created by Yennefer’s damned fertility spell. He hadn’t wished for her love, not exactly, but whether by love or magic or both, he suspected that for better or worse, their destinies were indeed forever intertwined.

Real or not, Geralt committed himself to the mage’s pleasure, while behind him, Jaskier continued to slam into him with a force Geralt had not expected from the bard. It was sex that bordered on violence, but even still, Jaskier knew what he was doing. He was forcing it to feel good. 

Yennefer had her head thrown back and although she made no sound, Geralt knew the scent of arousal when he smelled it - that much was real enough. She was resisting release though, resisting giving in to anything she couldn’t control. Jaskier, however, had no such power and it wasn’t long before Geralt felt him finish in hot spurts that fell across the Witcher’s scarred, sinewy back. 

“Don’t move,” Jaskier said. 

“Don’t stop,” Yen commanded, and Geralt continued working her over with his tongue, not seeking her climax, only seeking to prolong her pleasure. 

Jaskier moved from behind him to rummage behind the bar, and returned with a cup of ale in one hand and a wet rag in the other. He wiped down the back of Geralt’s neck with the cool cloth, then his shoulders, his ass, before wiping his back clean and tossing the rag on the ground. He drank and said absently, “What I wouldn’t give for a feather bed right now.”

Yen’s head popped up and she scanned the room. “That one’s the innkeeper,” she said jerking her chin in the direction of a fat, finely dressed man snoring in a chair by the door. “He’s got keys to the rooms upstairs in his pocket.”

Jaskier grinned as he retrieved the ring of keys. “Beautiful AND practical,” he said. “You know Geralt, I’m starting to see why you keep her around.”

Yennefer swung her legs over Geralt’s head and slid off the table. “Nobody keeps me anywhere,” she said, taking the keys out of Jaskier’s hand and heading for the stairs. “Come on bard,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t think we’re done with you yet.”

Jaskier followed Yen’s lead, but paused at the foot of the stairs to look back at Geralt, who had stood and was stretching his arms above his head. For a long moment, they stared at each other across the tavern, then Jaskier turned and disappeared up the stairs. Geralt felt the rush as his cock began to fill with blood, felt it harden in his grasp as he stroked it. That look had done this, he realized. Not the kissing or the tonguing or the fucking, just that look, that moment of connection between them. Geralt licked his lips, still sweet with Yen’s taste. She had pulled from Jaskier’s mind all the things he had imagined doing to Geralt.  _ Now,  _ Geralt mused, as he climbed up the stairs behind them,  _ it’s his turn to find out what I can imagine doing to him.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Geralt and Jaskier!

Making her way down a long hallway lit by intermittent lamps, Yen paused by each door they passed. She chose the last door they came to, and as she led them inside, Geralt could see why. The room was magnificent, obviously the best the inn had to offer. The canopied bed could have fit five or six, there were bowls of fruit and bottles of wine placed on ornate side tables, and past the fireplace, a door led to an adjoining bathing room with mirrored walls and a large porcelain tub. With a delighted laugh, Jaskier kicked off his shoes, grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorked it with his teeth, and tossed himself onto the bed, careless of the wine he spilled along the way. 

“I don’t suppose you intend to pay for this room,” Geralt said dryly, peering out the window. Other than the enchantment that lay heavy over the tavern below (if one knew how to look for such things), nothing was amiss. 

“Oh, it’s been paid for,” Yennefer replied from inside the bathing room. “But it seems the intended guests fell asleep somewhere else.” She came to the doorway and Geralt could see steam rising from the tub behind her. “No sense letting the room go to waste.” She gave him a half-smile and then slammed the door closed. 

Geralt shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots. He stretched out next to Jaskier, propped up by not one but two down-filled pillows. It was richer accommodation than a bard’s purse could usually buy - or a Witcher’s for that matter. Jaskier passed Geralt the bottle without looking at him and Geralt drank, then passed it back. They lay side by side, staring at the silk canopy above, saying nothing. 

At last, Jaskier broke the silence. “I didn’t... hurt you, did I?”

“Pain is relative,” Geralt replied. “But I am sorry Jaskier, for any that I have caused you.” Yennefer’s words as she had helped herself to the bard's memories rang in his head.  _ You’ve cried yourself to sleep over his cruelty... _

“I thought we were friends. Maybe.. more than..” Jaskier laughed quietly. “Even though you told me and told me we weren’t. I should have listened to you. It’s just that I don’t have a lot of friends. Oh, plenty of lovers, I mean -“ He gestured at his face, “- look at me. Plenty of drinking companions, plenty of would-be heroes eager to hear their name in song… but real friends? A real connection? I haven’t felt that in a long time, not until you came along. But.. I guess I was wrong.”

“Witchers don’t have friends,” Geralt said. “But if they did…” He turned to face the bard, “You would be mine.”

“Don’t do that,” Jaskier said. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

Geralt took the bottle from him and placed it on the table next to the bed. When he turned back, there was something new burning in his golden eyes. He turned Jaskier’s head none too gently and said, “I mean it,” before claiming his mouth with a long kiss. 

When Geralt drew back, Jaskier’s skin was flushed and he radiated the intoxicating scent of pure, heady desire. “Geralt of Rivia,” he breathed, “I am at your service. I happen to be an expert in the art of fellatio, if you would be inclined to accept such a forward offer of -“

“Are you asking to suck my cock?” 

Jaskier sat up and gave Geralt’s chest a playful slap. “Manners, please!” he said, dipping his head to kiss the spot he had struck. “Or do Witchers have none of those either?"

Geralt laughed in spite of himself and settled back among the pillows, as Jaskier moved to straddle his legs and take his half-hard cock in hand. 

“Not like that,” Geralt said. “Turn around.” He made a circling motion with one finger, then curled the finger towards himself.  _ Turn around and come closer.  _

Jaskier obliged, shifting and turning his body so that he sat astride Geralt’s chest. When he leaned forward to lick the tip of Geralt’s cock, he felt a spit-slick finger pushing for entry at his asshole. He bolted upright and twisted to look at Geralt over his shoulder. “Right.. so, you’re going to.. that’s.. okay. That’s.. quite nice, actually. Alright, carry on.”

He went back to the task at hand, letting the head of Geralt’s cock slip between his lips, while his hands gripped the base. He worked his way down the shaft, slowly taking in more with every bob of his head, until the entire length was encased in his warm mouth and constricting throat. He came up for air and then went back down again, barely missing a beat. Geralt could almost have lost himself in the exquisite sensation of it, but the ring of flesh gripping his thick finger reminded him that he had other plans for the bard. 

“Holy horns of a sylvan!” Jaskier exclaimed after several minutes of this enthusiastic effort. He was apparently speaking directly to Geralt’s cock. “You just don’t quit, do you?” He ran his tongue from base to tip, making a sound that was half appreciation, half annoyance. “I can see you are a cock that is not easily conquered, but you should know that I am a bard who is not easily bested!” He began sucking again with renewed gusto, but Geralt easily rolled him onto his back and positioned himself between Jaskier’s legs, which he brought up to rest on his shoulders. When he began to breach the glove-tight opening, the bard yelped beneath him. “I’m afraid no amount of spit - or wine - is going to help this situation,” Jaskier said a bit breathlessly. “If only we had some oil…”

“The drawer on the left!” 

They both froze at the sound of Yennefer’s voice, shouting from the other side of the bathing room door. Geralt reached over the bard to open the left bedside table’s drawer and found within a vial of oil. 

“You could have conjured some of this downstairs!” Geralt yelled back, as he coated his cock in the slippery substance and let it drip into Jaskier’s puckered opening. 

“You didn’t ask,” she replied, but Geralt had already turned his attention back to the bard. Oiled and ready, he began to push inside again. 

“Wait!” Geralt paused at Jaskier’s cry. “Before you attempt to fit your mutant cock inside my very human ass, I just wanted to, um, make sure this wasn’t like a ‘you fucked me as hard as you possibly could because you were angry and being a bit of a cunt, so now I’m going to do the same thing to you’ kind of deal? Because it’s just that, I’ve done this before of course, willingly, many times, but you know, also.. not so willingly. Hazard of the job. And it can be quite… awful.”

Geralt was quiet for a long moment, then simply said, “Slowly then.” Jaskier nodded and put his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss and moaning into his mouth as Geralt eased his way, slowly but steadily, into the tight hole. All the way in, back out, then in again. More oil when Jaskier winced and tightened his grip on Geralt’s shoulders. Long, deep strokes that Geralt paired with a warm hand working Jaskier’s cock when it rose to attention again.

The bard came for a second time, quickly, as Geralt had expected him to, but was instantly apologetic. “I want to make you cum too,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his lips to Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt pulled out and brushed the hair from Jaskier’s forehead. “That’s easier said than done,” he said, rolling over. “They made a monster to kill a monster, but they never intended for their monster to spread its seed.”

“You’re not a monster, Geralt,” Jaskier said, but his eyes were heavy and it wasn’t long before he was snoring softly. 

Geralt willed sleep to find him too, but as usual, it was futile. The only time he could really sleep was when Yen was sleeping beside him. His eyes drifted to the bathing room door and finally, he hauled himself off the bed. He took a moment to throw the blanket over Jaskier’s sleeping form, then went to the door and knocked lightly. When there was no response, he turned the handle and went in. 

There must have been a hundred candles in the small space and the air was still hot with fragrant steam, even though the bathwater should have been cold long ago. She was stretched out in the tub, hair piled atop her head, body glistening in the water, long shadows softening her face. 

“What took you so long?” she asked. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Geralt and Yennefer!
> 
> Warning - This chapter contains spanking

Geralt closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest. Yen smirked at him. “I take it you two have made your peace?”

“I would tell you about it, but it seems you have eyes wherever you want them,” Geralt retorted.

Yen laughed. “Did you expect any less?”

“I never know what to expect with you.”

“So,” the sorceress said, eyeing Geralt up and down. “You must be… spent.”

He shook his head as he approached the tub. “I told you, I’m not easily satisfied.”

“Neither am I.” 

They stared at each other, locked together, the steam rising between them. He reached out to run a thumb over the blood-red of her lip, and in response she took the whole thing in her mouth, sucking on it, purposefully indecent, her eyes never wavering from his. 

“Yennefer…” Geralt began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t,” she said. “Let’s not waste this night talking in circles around things that cannot be. She kicked a foot, splashing him with water. “Get in,” she told him. “Or else get out.”

“Shall I turn my back again?” he teased her. “Like the last time we took a bath together.” 

Yen smiled at the memory as Geralt lowered himself into the tub across from her. “I think we’re well past the point of preserving our modesty, don’t you?”

The corners of Geralt’s mouth turned up. He thought of the first time with the mage, both of them disheveled from the battle with the djinn, of the wild, reckless passion that had fueled their impromptu coupling as the house had crumbled around them. Yennefer was many things, but modest was not one of them. 

Geralt’s heavily muscled frame barely fit within the width of the tub, his knees poking out above the water’s surface on either side of Yen’s body. She rested her feet on the smooth plane of his stomach and taking one of them in his hands, he began massaging his thumbs from sole to heel. 

Yennefer sighed with pleasure. “Tell me, how does a Witcher know how to give a foot rub?” she asked. “Let me guess - a friend at some charmingly dilapidated whorehouse who accepts payment in kind and has bad feet?”

“Nothing so romantic,” Geralt said with a wry smile. “A Witcher trades in violence - crippling maiming, hobbling, you get the idea. They teach us where the bones connect so we know how to break them. We learn where the tendons stretch tight so we know how to snap them, where the nerves can be made to vibrate with a single touch.” Geralt picked up Yen’s other foot and began the massage again. “As it turns out, having an incredibly thorough, detailed knowledge of human anatomy has more uses than one.” He paused to catch her eye. “At whorehouses and elsewhere.”

Yennefer laughed and for a time, they sat in comfortable silence, warmed by the water and the candlelight and the company alike. It was Yen who finally asked, “What do you intend to do about the bard?”

“What do you mean?”

She cocked her head at him. “Are you really so blind? He’s in love with you, Geralt.” Looking away, she muttered under her breath, “Unless of course, he’s also tied to you by some damned wish magic.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “Like the wish magic that saved your life, you mean?”

“My life wasn’t in danger,” she snapped. 

“Like hell it wasn’t!”

“Fine! So what if it was? Isn’t it my choice whether to live or die? You had no right to take that from me!”

“Goddamnit, Yen, I won’t apologize for not letting you die! And I won’t feed into this fantasy of yours where you are the perpetual victim!”

She jammed her heel into his sternum, his ribs, used both feet to pepper him with small, sharp kicks, until he grabbed her legs and pulled her forward, so that her head dunked into the water. She came up sputtering and furious, hair tumbling haphazardly from its pins. “How dare you?!” she cried, anger propelling her to rise from the tub. “Do I seem like a victim to you? I could level this entire fucking town with a word. Is that all I deserve?”

“No,” Geralt said, standing as well and rubbing his torso which would be bruised black and blue tomorrow. “You seem like a spoiled child and like a spoiled child, what you deserve is a good spanking!”

“Try it and I’ll turn you into an eel so fast, your head will spin - what’s left of it anyway!”

Geralt scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. “Still worth it,” he said before crushing her mouth under his. He kissed her even as he stepped out of the tub, both of them dripping, as he carried her to the wall. He put her feet on the ground and pushed her against the mirrored tile, her cheek pressed to the cold surface. With one hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place, he let the other hand caress the length of her body, stopping at the curve of her ass. He shifted into her line of sight.

_ Stop me, _ he challenged her with his eyes, but she stood unmoving. With a resounding  _ crack,  _ his open palm made contact with her skin.

“Harder,” she said. 

The Witcher obliged, spanking her again, turning her ass bright pink. 

“Harder.”

He delivered another blow that made her gasp, but she managed to whisper, “Harder.”

“No.”

“Why not?” she asked him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “At least I know the pain is real.”

He found her mouth again, but there was no anger in it now. He lifted her up, and with her back against the wall and her legs wrapped tight around him, he filled her up with a single thrust. Her hair fell around them as he moved inside her, their bodies reflected back at them by fragments in the flickering light of candles that never seemed to burn low. He buried his head in her breasts as her nails dug into his back and something stronger than pleasure coursed through them both. 

“How can you doubt this is real?” he asked her.

She looked down at him. Her lips were parted, her body humming with need, demanding to be satisfied, but she resisted it still. “How can you not?”

Geralt felt the room around him go hazy, his over-sharp senses suddenly muddled. Even Yennefer seemed to blur in front of his very eyes, only her scent - the lilac and the berries - cutting through the fog. Then in her place, it was Renfri in his arms. When he stumbled back from the wall, it was into the embrace of Triss Merigold, her mage’s fingers burning a trail of fiery pleasure through the curls on his chest. Warm lips closed around his cock, and it was Jaskier kneeling there, then a blacksmith’s apprentice he had taken in a field, then a beautiful whore for whom he had paid too much but who had tasted like summer rain. All of their hands, their mouths, their moans and their whispered words together brought Geralt to the brink of release, a place he rarely reached with anyone. It was so tempting to surrender to them, so seductively sweet, so very easy.  _ Too easy.  _

“Stop it,” he ground the words out as Triss caught his nipple in her teeth. 

She looked up at him with Triss Merigold’s chestnut eyes, but when she spoke, it was in Yennefer’s voice. “That’s the thing about magic Geralt, it looks real, sounds real, feels real…”

“But it’s not real,” he finished. 

In an instant, the figures around him vanished, as did the candles and the steam, leaving him and Yen alone with an empty tub in a drab, dark room illuminated only by the moon. 

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

*****

Geralt was immune to most simple spells, wasn’t easily fooled or shaken. But Yennefer had a way of turning everything he knew on its head. She was sitting against the wall, knees drawn into her chest, arms wrapped around them. Across from her, Geralt sank unsteadily to the floor himself, mirroring her pose, resting his head, which still reverberated with the effects of her illusion, on the bathtub’s ledge. His Witcher’s body did not appreciate being subjected to her tricks. 

“Sorry,” she said. “It will fade quickly.” Geralt swallowed. His throat felt dry, his tongue lead-heavy in his mouth. On the windowsill, appeared the half-empty bottle of wine he had left on the bedside table and two goblets. Yen stood, poured the wine, and extended a cup to him. Geralt didn’t move. His hands were shaking. She sighed and sat down next to him. “Here,” she said, putting the cup to his lips. 

He drank, and even when he could have held the drink steady himself, he remained still, letting her tip the wine into his mouth until it was gone. He should have been angry with her, but all he felt was a longing to touch her again, to never be without her, endless trouble though she was. 

When he could speak again, Geralt looked around the room. “I like it better like this,” he rasped. 

She gave a snort. “Are all Witchers above worldly comforts, or are you a special breed?”

“I’m not special. I’m just a tool, a weapon created for one purpose, like the rest of my kind. Not like you.”

“Oh yes,” Yen said, sarcasm slipping into her tone. “I am truly so special. So beautiful. Barren, but beautiful.” She shook her head. “If only you knew what I was before.”

“So show me.”

“I think not!” she retorted. “What was it you suggested my previous affliction might be? Split ends was it? You have no idea.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Why? So you can pity me?”

“So I can know you. The real you.”

“What would you like to know? That I was a hunchback? That I was hideously deformed?” As she spoke, watery images of the girl she had once been rippled across the glass tiles in the wall, caught for a moment in the moonlight and then lost in the dark. “That I was a grotesque monster, little better than the monsters you hunt down and kill? That I was taunted mercilessly? Made to sleep in shit? Beaten till I couldn’t walk?” Here, the mage’s voice broke. “That I was sold for four marks?” She held up her scarred wrist. “That I hated myself so much, I tried to take my own life? Is that the kind of thing you want to know? Does that tell you about the real me?”

Geralt took her hand. It seemed small and fragile in his larger one, but he knew well the power it possessed. He pressed his lips to her scars. “At least you know who you were,” he said. “You had dreams - of being beautiful, powerful, important to someone - and you made them come true. I was a child when I was abandoned to this fate. I was never even given a chance to dream.”

“Do you dream now?” she asked him.

“Only when I’m with you,” he said. 

They found each other in the dark, her lips on his, hands in his hair, his arms around her, their embrace unbreakable. She sat astride him, rolling her hips to take him in deep, fitting her body to his as if they had been tailor-made for one another. Those who despised him said that Witchers felt nothing, but as he moved inside of her, Geralt felt everything at once, felt the world move with them, felt more than he could contain. But there was something he still had to do. He pushed two fingers into Yen’s mouth, coating them with wetness, then brought them down between her legs.

“Geralt…” she breathed, as he thrust into her harder, his fingers coaxing her secret bit of flesh out from under its hood. Her skin was hot to the touch, her eyes all wildness, chaos building around them as she struggled to maintain control. 

“I’m here,” he whispered, the one arm still around her tightening as they began to leave the ground. The magic flowing through both of their veins set them afloat above the empty tub, as the force of the connection between them became more than either of them could fight any longer. “I love you,” he said. It was the most real thing he could offer. 

Everything around them went still. Destiny itself seemed to wait on Yennefer’s words. “I love you too,” she said at last, and sent them tumbling over the edge of ecstasy together. 

*****

They woke the next morning piled up together in the big bed. Yennefer stirred first, watching the two men sleep and contemplating what lay ahead. Jaskier was next to open his eyes and grin at her across the expanse of Geralt’s chest. “This is cozy, isn’t it? I could get used to this,” he said. 

Yen smiled, but said nothing. She wouldn’t yet admit it, but the truth was that she could get used to it too. With one finger, she traced a delicate line from Geralt’s brow to the cleft of his chin, and came to rest her hand on the Witcher’s medallion he still wore around his neck. “Should we wake him?” she asked. 

Jaskier sat up and shook his head. “He can’t sleep, you know,” he told her. “On the road, at night, he paces, hunts, talks - to his horse mostly - but rarely sleeps. It makes him cranky as fuck.” Yen laughed softly. She could well imagine. Jaskier looked down at the sleeping Witcher and then at the mage. “But with you,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers, “He’s at peace.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then stood and stretched. “Besides,” he said, “I could do without his doom and gloom attitude for a little longer, couldn’t you?” He gave her a wink and wandered into the bathing room, humming a tune under his breath. 

Yen lay next to Geralt a few minutes longer listening to his even breath. When she moved to rise from the bed, his voice stopped her. “Stay,” he said. 

“Can the Witcher really afford to stay in bed all day?” she asked him, her tone playfully stern. “Is there nothing you can think of that might require your attention?”

“Nothing at all,” he mumbled, eyes still closed even as he rolled into her, kissing a trail from her neck to her breast and letting a nipple slide into his mouth. 

“Nothing?” she repeated, trying to ignore the pleasure his touch sent fluttering through her body. “Nilfgaard? The war? The girl?”

Geralt made a sound between a groan and a sigh.  _ The girl.  _ “Fuck,” he muttered. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her and found on the side table, his clothes, neatly folded, pressed, and - for once - clean. He turned to look at the mage over his shoulder. She shrugged. 

“Helloo, sorceress?” they heard Jaskier calling. “A little water would be nice, preferably hot, maybe some rose petals if it’s not too much trouble.” 

Seeing the look on Yen’s face, it was Geralt’s turn to shrug. “He grows on you,” he said.

She sent Jaskier his water and his clothes and as Geralt watched, she took the blink of an eye to go from lying naked in the bed, her hair loose and tangled around her, to standing by the window, fully dressed, hair pinned in place, falling in freshly brushed waves that shone in the sunlight. 

“What?” She had caught him staring. 

_ You are the most stunning creature I have ever seen,  _ he thought. “There’s something you should know,” he said, “about the girl. She’s powerful… but if it’s magic she’s wielding, it’s not like any kind of magic I’ve seen before.” Geralt paused, taking a breath before playing this last card. “Maybe you can help her. If you came with us, you could teach her what it is, how to control it, use it. You could help me protect her. She’s got no one left, Yen. She’s bound to me and I to her, but something tells me she’s going to need all the friends she can get.”

Yennefer considered. Here at least, was a choice. And if she went along with the Witcher, the Princess and the bard, it would not be at the whim of anyone else’s wish, but her own decision. There were larger forces at play, but if the Lion Cub of Cintra could summon her here without even knowing that she had done so, Yennefer couldn’t help but wonder if their destinies were also somehow linked.  _ This girl might be the key, _ she thought.  _ A way to defeat Fringilla. A way to stop Nilfgaard and the evil that would spread like wildfire if its power continued to grow.  _ But there was only one way to know for sure. 

“Would you take a look at the three of us?!” Jaskier pranced out of the bathing room and did something akin to a jig, pausing to give Geralt a peck on the cheek. “Don’t we look like a couple of adventurers, ready to hit the open road, ready for whatever destiny throws at us today? Ooh, that might make a good song! No, but seriously, what’s the plan? And does it involve some food? Because I am starving! Hey, look - grapes!” Jaskier popped a handful of grapes from a bowl on the table by the door into his mouth and looked from Geralt to Yennefer as he chewed. 

Geralt was watching her too with his Witcher’s eyes, waiting for an answer. She remembered his arms around her, how gentle his strong hands could be, how right it had felt to find release together. But most of all, she remembered his words.  _ I love you. _

Yennefer strode to the door. “The plan, dear bard,” she said, tucking the hair that was forever falling into Jaskier’s face back behind his ear, “is to save the world.” She didn’t need to look back at Geralt to know that he was smiling, that he felt the rightness of this too. “But first... breakfast!”


End file.
